


Stay

by Yenneferrrr



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-06-03 18:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yenneferrrr/pseuds/Yenneferrrr
Summary: She has Jake, but wants Marcus.





	1. Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Long time, no see Kabby fam. So I’ve seen the spoilers (because I haven’t seen ANY of season 5 or 6, and WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. I figured we could all use a good fit right about now) Sorry for any grammar mistakes! I already have chapter two written, and working on three now!

He's never been a fan of Jacob Griffin. 

He was nice enough, but there was something about him that struck Marcus Kane the wrong way. Never mind the fact that Jake had stolen a handful of girlfriends from him, or the fact that he would always leave them broken-hearted. 

It was the arrogance. The cockiness. He couldn’t stand it.

And on a wild whim, watching from the corner of the bar, he decides then and there he’ll get his revenge. 

What he doesn’t expect, though, is the woman who’s currently gotten Jake’s attention is none other than Abigail Mitchell. 

The air leaves his lungs with a stinging force, and he downs the rest of his drink to give him the courage. 

He’s always liked Abby, had admired her intelligence and will to never back down. She was from a different kind; so light, hopeful, at peace. He’d convince himself she’d want nothing to do with his dark, contempt nature. He was a man of few words, mostly kept to himself. 

They wouldn’t make a good couple.

He doesn’t have much time to back down from his own challenge, because she’s walking up to the empty spot at the bar near him. She recognizes him, gives him a smile, and takes her spot besides him.

“Never thought I’d see you here,” he says first, trying not to pay much attention to the fact that she’s so close.

“Jake invited me out. You remember him, yeah?” He has to scoff gently to himself at the irony, wondering if she knows just exactly how the two of them know each other.

“We’ve met in passing,” he says dryly, flagging the bartender down for another drink. 

He decides then and there that there’s no way around it. 

“You’re not going home with him, are you?”

She’s taken back by such a direct question, only talked to Marcus a handful of times, and none of them being meaningful enough for him to care about the answer to his question. She opens her mouth to answer, but closes it back without a reply.

He takes her silence as the answer.

“Well…” Another perfectly poured whiskey is set in front of him. “Call me when you’re ready to be taken care of,” he hints, drawing in her confusion as he grabs her phone, programs his number, and moves away from her without another word.

Grinning to himself as he walks away, leaving her speechless. She looks down at her phone, the screen illuminating her face in the dark bar.

—

They’re kissing, just like she figured they’d be. She’s not drunk by any means, and Jake doesn’t seem to be either. It’s a bit awkward at first, getting used to each other’s touches and sounds, but she tries her hardest to push past it.

And for some ungodly reason, Marcus Kane won’t leave her mind, even as she’s being laid down onto the bed by Jake Griffin. ‘Call me when you’re ready to be taken care of.’

What in the hell could he possibly have meant by that?

She’s brought back to reality upon feeling her skirt, followed by her panties, leave her body. 

He’s rushing into it, and she doesn’t know exactly what to do to make him slow down, to make him take his time, to make her feel what she needs to feel. His hands are rough, and cold, and fuck, she’s overthinking. 

She tries to pull him back up to her, to continue the sweet torture of foreplay, to get him to lick at her collarbone, bite down on her neck, pay attention to her breasts…. anything.

“Is this okay,” he suddenly asks, his head lifting from between her thighs.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ she thinks to herself. She hears herself half-heartedly murmur an approval, and he gets back to the task at hand. 

It’s not… bad. She reaches an edge numerous times, but no matter how hard she tries, or how long they go for, she can’t reach an orgasm.   
She finally decides to fake one to end the unpleasantness.

—

By the time she makes it home, it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning. There’s a burning desire to pull out her phone and text Marcus, to give him the satisfaction of an ‘I told you so’ moment. 

She locks her door and pushes her back against it, bringing up his number to type a message.

A. Mitchell: [How did you know?]

M. Kane: [Abby, I presume?] His message comes through quicker than she would have thought.

A. Mitchell: [You haven’t answered my question.]

M. Kane: [Lucky guess?]

A. Mitchell: [You know something I don’t.]

M. Kane: [So I’m guessing I was right?]

A. Mitchell: [I’ve had better… I need better.] She blushes when she types the words, and sends them. 

M. Kane: [I’m on my way.]

She has to double take at her phone, making sure she’s read it correctly. How sure of himself he must feel. She throws her phone onto the bed after boldly sending him the address of her apartment, stripping off the stale clothes and pulling out a fresh pair of shorts.

And nearly twenty minutes later, there’s a soft knock at her door.

She lets out a breath of air, wondering what in the hell has gotten into her, and opens it.

He’s standing opposite of her, his hands shoved in his pockets. He’s wearing the same thing she had seen him in at the bar. And even though it’s three o’clock in the morning, there’s not a hint of tiredness in his face. All he does is look her over, from head to toe, and something sets spark inside of her. She doesn’t invite him in, doesn’t say a word; just watches as he takes careful, measured steps closer to her. 

The silence is ear-piercing, and as he gently pushes her door to close, it almost echos in her empty apartment. 

He wastes no time, doesn’t ask for her permission. Just grabs her face, and kisses her. Her knees grow so weak, she reaches out behind her for support. She’s met with the kitchen counter, which she’s roughly pushed against. His body is against hers, and she’s forgotten about the boring sex she’d had just minutes ago. 

His hands leave trails of fire against her sensitive skin, and his kisses are enough to leave her in a vulnerable position between her legs. He’s so close to her, smells so good, feels like he’s right where he belongs. Feels like she’s done this a million times with him… only him.

She gasps into their kiss upon being heaved up onto the counter, his fingers digging into the backs of her thighs. Her legs spread wider apart, to give him room to move closer. Her shorts bunch high against her thighs, cutting into the junction of her hip, and it almost hurts at how tight the material is stretched. 

Her hands shoot out behind her to steady herself on the counter, bumping into various wine glasses she’d just wash. Glass shatters behind her, and his tongue is in her mouth. Her hands leave the counter and grab at his dark v-neck shirt, fistfuls of fabric in each hand. He makes a sound deep in his throat before lifting her off of the counter, and heading for her bedroom. 

He gently lays her down onto the bed, and lowers his attention to her legs. Pressing open-mouth kisses to her inner ankles, behind her knee, on the inside of her thighs. 

She throws her head back against the pillow, her lips parting and her tongue sweeping over them through a shaky breath. She can no longer feel his lips against her skin, and just as she opens her mouth to complain, she feels his fingers dipping on either side of her hips, pulling down her shorts.

She lays before him in a tank top that barely manages to cover her cleavage, and black lace underwear. 

No words are said. 

He uses one hand to part her legs further apart, and she obliges. Just as she closes her eyes, she can feel him again… through her underwear. She swears she’s never been as wet as in this moment, and he can feel her seeping through the dainty lace. 

Jake hadn’t managed to do this.

He had been so quiet during their exchange, that the strangled breath she hears come from him almost shocks her. She's lost in the feeling of his beard nestling against her inner thigh, the rough hairs scraping against her heated skin. She feels his fingers hook into either side of her underwear, slowly pulling them down her slim legs. 

Before he can make another move, she lifts from the mattress and he stops. He doesn’t want to push her too far, but it’s not at all what he thinks. She grabs at the bottom of his cotton shirt, looking up at him in the dimness of her bedroom. She has to pull herself up to her knees in order to pull the piece of clothing over his head. She’s rewarded with his hands on either one of her hips, steading her on her knees.

Her small hands fall to his muscular shoulders, and she can feel how tense he is. This was meant to be about her, but she can’t help herself as her hands trail down his chest, over his pecks, down his abdomen, and come to rest low on his stomach. He feels her unbutton his jeans, and it’s all the confirmation he needs. 

He slides off the bed and rids himself of any remaining clothing, as she rushes to pull the tank top over her head. Before she knows it, he’s reaching for her again, pulling her back to her knees, but this time, over his lap.

Their lips meet in another bruising kiss. He’s taking her all in; her taste, her smell, the way she feels underneath his hands, the weight of her against his lap. 

His hands leave her thighs and come up her sides, effectively lifting her just enough to position her over him. And when he lets his hands fall, she falls with them. He’s so thick, that it hurts. The feeling of him stretching her from the inside sends a rush through her body. 

She has to lift herself and slide down on him a number of times before he bottoms out, and her head falls to his shoulder when it happens. Her mouth is opened wide in a silent scream, her teeth scrape against his skin. 

“How am I doing so far,” he says softly, after she’s finally grown accustomed to his size. She leans back ever so slightly, just enough to see his face, and grins.

“So much better,” she sighs, her voice trailing off as he urges her to move. 

—

She wakes up hours later, sore in all the right places from the events of the early morning. Her legs are shaking as she stands from the bed to pull on her clothes, and she eyes her phone on the nightstand.

It comes to life, and there are two unread messages.

The first, from Jake, that reads: “Last night was amazing. Can’t wait to see you again.” There’s a bolt of guilt that strikes through her heart, that he seemed like such a sweet guy, was handsome and charming, but… he couldn’t do to her what Marcus Kane had done. 

And the second, which makes her blush, roll her eyes playfully, and smirk… is from none other than Marcus Kane. “Told you so.”


	2. Super Natural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Sorry for any grammar mistakes! Working on chapter three currently!

She doesn’t know why she texts him, why she feels the need to tell him the news. 

A. Mitchell: [I’m going out with him again tonight.]

It had been almost a week since they had last seen each other, and with every day that passed, she craved the way he’d kiss her, the way he paid so much attention to her body, how he had taken his time with her.

Her phone vibrates.

M. Kane: [Is this another invitation?]

A. Mitchell: [You’re so sure of yourself.]

M. Kane: [Let me know when you’re ready.]

She sighs in frustration, deletes the text messages between them, and gets back to the task at hand: getting ready for her date with Jake. She had chosen a white, off-the-shoulder boho top with a floral pattern. Her high wasted jeans were tight in all the right places, and with the tan wedges Callie had loaned her last week, she looked stunning. 

There’s a knock at her door, and as she adds the last details of diamond earrings, she remembers what happened the last time there was a knock on her door. She glances over to the kitchen counter, the same counter Marcus had pushed her up against, had heaved her on top of, and remembers the sound of glass shattering as she had reached for something, anything, to hold on to. 

The heat was rising in her chest, and she decides to open the door before more memories of that one night can come back to her. Jake stands on the other side, and for some reason, she can’t help but feel slightly disappointed it’s not Marcus Kane.

‘Stop it,’ she tells herself. ‘You’re going out with him tonight. You WILL have good sex. You will NOT text Marcus Kane.’

“You look beautiful,” Jake says, pulling her back to reality.

“Thank you.” 

“All ready then?” He’s holding out his arm, and she takes it slowly, allowing him to guide her down to his vehicle. He opens the passenger door for her, and waits until she’s safely buckled herself in before gently closing the door. 

“So where are we going tonight,” she asks, taking in how clean and expensive his car looks. 

“Well… it’s a bit of a surprise, but I think you’ll like it.”

He’s focused on the road, and as the soft music floats through the car, he doesn’t notice that her phone vibrates and comes to life in her lap. She imagines it’s Callie, or classmate from med school. Not Marcus Kane.

But it is. 

And she quickly dims the brightness on the screen and opens his message.

M. Kane: [You should head over here. Party starting at midnight.]

A. Mitchell: [You do realize I’m on a date, right?]

M. Kane: [Is that what you’re calling it?]

A. Mitchell: [For your information, it’s going very well. And besides, he picked me up. I have no way of getting there… even if I wanted to.]

M. Kane: [You leave that to me. Text me when you’re ready.]

“Everything okay,” she hears Jake ask, and she quickly locks her phone. She knows she should feel bad, should feel some remorse of guilt, but it’s not like she was officially dating the guy. She was still a free woman; free to do what she wanted. She wasn’t married, for God’s sake.

“Fine. Good,” she says quickly, watching as they pull alongside of one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city. He stops the car, and motions for valet to take his keys, as he walks over to where she sits and opens the door for her, again.

She can feel the stares of other restaurant goers, and feels a blush creep up her chest. She had been to places like this before, been treated like an elite patron, thanks to her father… who was the reason she had gone into medical school in the first place. 

“People are staring,” she whispers as Jake takes ahold of her arm, looping it through his, nodding off in the distance to a familiar face.

“Let them stare,” he says, guiding her inside of the restaurant where they’re seated almost immediately in an intimate corner.

She’s quick to order herself a glass of red wine, to take the edge off, and she nearly sighs when it touches her tongue. And for the rest of the night, she can’t help but glance at her phone from time to time, checking to see how much time she has left before she can reasonably end the date. 

And she suddenly stops.

‘You have got to get a grip on yourself. You are on a date, for God’s sake. A nice date, with a nice guy.’

The remainder of the date goes almost picture perfect. He shares bits of his food, off of his own fork, compliments her beyond belief, makes perfect, light conversation, pays for their dinner without skipping a beat, and escorts her back to his car. 

And when she realizes he’s driving them back to his apartment, she knows she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to. So what if he spent a lot of money? Any other girl would have felt obligated to return the favor, but not her. 

When they make it back to his place, he makes light conversation as he follows behind her on the stairs. She thanks him continuously for the amazing night, and he brushes it off like the gentleman he is. Unlocking his apartment, he lets her in first and closes the door behind him. 

“Will you excuse me for just one minute? Please make yourself at home.” He motions to the living room or kitchen, which she notices has an unopened bottle of wine on the counter. She nods at him, and watches him disappear into his bedroom.

Quickly, she takes out her phone and pulls up his messages. Her fingers hover over the letters as she thinks it over in her mind, again, and again. 

Should she do this? Should she really travel down this path?

A. Mitchell: [You know where he lives?]

She can feel the blood pulsing through her fingers as she sends the message, and hopes that he will respond quickly, before Jake returns. 

M. Kane: [I do.] Her heart skips a beat at how fast his reply comes through.

A. Mitchell: [Pick me up in one hour.] She noted the time. 11:36 pm. He’d have to leave his party just after it would start.

M. Kane: [One hour.]

She shoves her phone into the back pocket of her jeans just as Jake reappears. He gives her a reassuring smile before heading over to the bottle of wine. And just as he corks it, she can hear the excuse forming in her head. As he hands her a generously poured glass, it leaves her mouth.

“I, um… just remembered that I promised my lab partner I’d help her study early in the morning. I can’t stay too late,” she hears herself lie, and how seamless it seemed. 

“No problem. Just say when.”

“Oh, no. No, you don’t have to worry about that. I have a friend coming to pick me up. You’ve already done so much.”

“I insist, Abby.”

She smiles, nods, and takes a gulp of wine. Juggling two men was going to be harder than she thought. Halfway through her glass, she excuses herself modestly to the restroom, where she pulls out her phone.

A. Mitchell: [Meet me at my place instead. He’s insisting on driving me home.] She sends the message, washes her hands, and shoves the phone back into her pocket. 

And just as promised, in the next half hour, she’s finished her wine, and he’s taking her home. No funny business, no tricks. He pulls into her apartment complex, passes a few buildings, and comes to stop in front of her’s. 

She’s learned, over the years, which of her neighbors drives which car. So when the motorcycle with a helmeted driver comes into view, she feels her heart quicken. Jake is quick to move around to her side of the car, to open her door and offer his hand. 

“Thank you again. For everything. It was very lovely.”

“Only the best for you,” he says with that charming grin, one that almost melts her heart. “Go on. Get some rest. Call me tomorrow, maybe?”

She nods gently, and holds out her arms for a hug. He pulls her in softly, wrapping strong arms around her tiny waist. He fits… almost perfectly against her, and all she can think about is how badly this must be killing Marcus.

And then she feels it.

His hand is brushing away her hair, his fingers sliding around to the back of her neck. It happens before she knows it, and his lips are against hers. She’s so taken back by the suddenness of it all, that her hands remain by her side. Whether or not it was her intention, she’s unsure. 

It’s strange, she realizes, almost foreign; his kiss. His lips are soft, and warm, but… awkward. She kisses him back with a forced passion to match his own, and just as he moves to deepen it, a loud engine roars to life.

They break apart quickly, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest… but not from Jake’s kiss. 

The helmeted motorcycle driver has his back towards them, but revs his engine once more… even in the stillness of the night. 

“I guess someone doesn’t like the show,” Jake mutters, looking over her head at the masked man.

“Bet he didn’t even realize we were here,” she lies with a knowing smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she promises, pushing him softly back towards his car and away from her. 

“I’m counting on it.”

She waits until his car leaves her complex and makes it out onto the road before she turns, her arms crossed over her chest. She notices the second helmet seated on the back of the motorcycle, and smirks.

“Was that really necessary?”

“You said ‘one hour’. He was cutting into my time.”

Slowly, she walks up to him. He’s leaning against his parked bike, helmet now off. The constant hum of his stalled engine drawing her closer.

“You expect me to ride on the back of this thing?” He grins.

“You’ll have me to hold onto. It won’t be as bad as you think.” With his free hand, he offers her the smaller helmet, which she accepts nervously. “Trust me?”

Strangely, she doesn’t have to think twice. She looks once at him, once at the helmet.

“Let’s get out of here before he comes back.” He chuckles, and the engine revs into the night again.


	3. This Must Be The Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Motherhood is kicking my ass. Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

It’s terrifying; her first time on a motorcycle, but exciting, nonetheless. She fits perfectly on the back of his bike, and shivers when his hands grip her wrists, pulling her arms to slide around his waist. She interlocks her hands together, just above the waistband of his jeans, and he pulls out onto the road quickly. 

She feels weightless, carefree, and it’s the best feeling in the world. He weaves in and out of traffic, and she should be terrified, but she’s not. And when they come to an empty stretch of road, she can feel one of his hands on her calf, rubbing gently against the material of her thin jeans. He gives her leg a careful squeeze, and her heart swells. 

She’s a little disappointed when their ride comes to an end so quickly, and she hadn't realized exactly how close he lived to her. As promised, there’s a raging party in one of the apartments, one she can only guess belongs to him. 

He helps her off the motorcycle and accepts the helmet back from her with a grin.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Couldn’t you tell,” is her quick response, glancing back at his bike. “You’ll have to take me on this thing more often.”

“I can do that,” he promises. 

She marvels at how her night has taken such a drastic turn. From a lovely, intimate dinner, to a rowdy house party in less than six hours. He grabs onto her hand, fingers lacing together, as he leads her through the parking lot and up the stairs. The music grows louder and louder, but he doesn’t bring them to the party. 

Instead, the apartment next door, his apartment, is the one that he unlocks. 

Her eyebrow raises in confusion, and a small smile plays on her lips.

“Change of heart?”

“I needed an excuse to get you alone. If you’d like to go, say the word.” He motions to the party, but she ducks under his arm and walks into his dark apartment. He follows behind her, shuts his door, and flicks on the lights. 

His place is so strikingly different from Jake’s. It’s neat and organized, but full of personality. His bookshelf houses books that range from science-fiction to mythology. There are a few framed pictures of whom she can only assume are his mother and father, and a few of his friends. 

There’s an empty beer bottle which he picks up to throw away, and turns on the television to let an ambient noise fill the room.

“You want one,” he asks, holding up the beer before chucking it into the garbage. 

“Sure.” He hands her a fresh, cold beer which she welcomes. The first sip is enough to make her eyes close, and her lips curl into a smile. “Much better than hot wine, I imagine.”

“Both are good, but this is better,” she says, taking another generous gulp. 

He takes a spot on his couch, legs comfortably splayed apart and his arms across the back of the sofa. He brings his beer to his lips, watching as she examines his belongings. 

“So how was your date,” he asks, taking another sip of his beer. Part of him feels guilty for putting her in such a position, but she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t interested. Right?

“It was… interesting.” 

“So an improvement since last time?”

“What makes you so sure we had sex this time,” she blurts out, missing the shock in his face. She’s still examining his trinkets and personal touches to notice how he squirms on the couch. 

“Well… I… just-“ He’s scrambling for words, losing them quicker as she stalks closer. She sets her half-empty beer down on his coffee table, before slowly straddling his lap.

“We did, however, make out.”  


“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

He can feel her hands resting on his shoulders. He tenderly reaches up with one hand to brush away a small strand of hair that’s fallen in her face. She can’t help but lean into his touch. He knows then and there, that he doesn’t want to take her away from Jake for the hell of it; he wants her for good. 

“Are you,” she asks, her voice barely audible over the muffled music coming from next door. He can feel her hands leave his shoulders and come to rest against either side of his chest, slowly grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

He moves forward, wasting no time and captures her lips in the softest of kisses. His hands are framing her face one second, and then slip under her thighs the next. He stands from the couch, with her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She takes the opportunity to deepen their kiss and he almost drops her when her tongue slides against his.

His bedroom is dark, and his sheets are cold as he falls back against his mattress with her still on top of him. She makes quick work of whatever clothes are on, and finds herself on her back, suddenly. 

The flimsy piece of lace that serves as her thong is stretched between her knees, and all it takes is for her to spread her legs even further apart for them to rip. One hand is in his hair and the other gripping his bicep, her fingers touching pure muscle. He’s kissing his way down her body, from her lips, down her neck, and paying special attention to her breasts. He rolls a nipple between his fingers, before gently pinching. He hardens at the sound of her moan, and licks his lips. 

He descends on her breast, licking at her taut nipples, before drawing it into his mouth. She arches off from the bed, but he settles between her spread legs, the weight of him pushing her back down onto the bed. She sighs into his ear, her own hands beginning to roam. And there’s only one place she wants to touch.

She wraps her fingers around his hardness, and he lets her nipple pop out of his mouth, a shaky breath leaving his lips. Her thumb traces over the wetness at his tip, and smears it down the length of him. He bucks into her hand, hard… and before he knows it, she’s guiding him inside of her.

He pushes, in one fluid stroke, inside of her. 

“Fuck.” Is the only word that leaves her lips.

He doesn’t still, doesn’t pause. And it drives her crazy. She’s unable to catch her breath, and clawing at anything to hang onto as he pushes into her; over and over again. She’s tight, and wet, and he hits a spot with every thrust that gets her closer to the edge. 

It stings, but in such a pleasurable way, that she wants more. She tilts the angle of her hips, allowing him deeper inside, and he finally pauses for a second. 

She’ll be sore in the morning, but she doesn’t care. His hands slide around to her lower back, propping her up and keeping her in the position that will allow him to push as far as he can inside of her. 

His hips begin to roll again, but slowly, until her fingers are clawing at his backside and forcing him to go faster, harder.

“Abby.” 

She pushes against him, rolling him over onto his back and straddling his hips. They never lose contact, and she grinds down against him. He feels so good, stretching her from the inside out, and all it takes is a few thrusts before her orgasm hits. 

—

The sun is nearly up as he walks her downstairs, back to his Jeep instead of the motorcycle.

“I wish you would stay. I know you’re tired.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, walking into his arms as they hug before leaving for her apartment. “Thank you for such a fun night,” she whispers into his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and gives her one more gentle squeeze.

She nearly falls asleep on the ride there, and he has to gently nudge her awake. She quickly presses a kiss to his cheek before hopping out of his Jeep and climbing up to her apartment.

When the door closes behind her, there’s only one word that leaves her mouth.

“Fuck.”

Her phone is in her hand, and after she sends a message to Aurora, she heads off to her shower.

Her friend is there in less than twenty minutes, with hot coffee and muffins from the local coffee shop. Abby nearly kisses her when she sees the food, and lets her into the apartment.

“I couldn’t do this over the phone. Thanks for coming over so early,” she says as she accepts one of the coffees, guiding Aurora to the outside patio.

“Spill it. I want to know everything.”

They settle into the chairs, and after Abby blows the top of the coffee, she laughs in disbelief.

“Oh my God. You’re not going to believe any of this.”

“Try me.” 

“You can not tell a soul. Especially Callie. Do we understand each other?”

Aurora nods her head, suddenly taken back by how serious her friend’s tone had gotten.

“I’m sleeping with Jake Griffin.”  


Aurora smiles, and holds up a hand for Abby to high-five.

“And Marcus Kane.”

Aurora’s smile fades.

“Oh no,” she says, her hand falling into her lap.

“Oh yeah,” Abby says.

Callie’s ex-boyfriends. 

The silence between them is deafening and its Aurora who finally speaks up first.

“I… but… okay, first… how?”

“He came up to me one night. I was with Jake. I don’t….” Abby shrugs, as if to tell her friend she doesn’t exactly know it this all happened.

“Do you know how crazy this is?” 

“I know, I know,” Abby says, her face buried in her hands.

“How long has this been going on?”Abby lets out a huge sigh, and drags her face with her fingers.

“A week or so?”

“When’s the last time you saw either one of them?”

Abby takes another sip of coffee.

“Abby,” Aurora says sternly.

“Last night. Or this morning? I don’t know.”

“Shit,” Aurora says, laughing to herself after a few moments. “You’re in so much trouble.”

“You don’t think I know that?” 

There’s still one question lingering between them, and Abby knows it.

“Go ahead. Ask.”

“Which one’s better?” And without skipping a beat, Abby answers.

“Kane,” she says with a smirk. More silence

—

When she wakes, it’s late in the afternoon. She had been so tired earlier, that she had forgotten to turn on her ceiling fan. The stale air in her room is enough to make her nauseous. She sits herself up in the bed, and reaches for her phone.

It’s got an assortment of unread text messages, emails, social media notifications, and missed calls. 

It takes her a while to adjust to the bright screen, but when she does, she’s able to filter out what’s important.

A missed call from Jake. And unread messages from Marcus.

She decides to call Jake first. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and decides then and there she needs to freshen up with a hot bath.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey. I saw you called. What’s up,” she asks, throwing the covers off of her legs and dragging out of bed.

“Oh, nothing much. I wanted to know what your plans for this big Saturday night were.”

“I um… I really should stay in and study. I’m behind on so much material,” she says as she walks into her bathroom, flicking on the light and collecting things for her bath.

“Well we don’t have to go anywhere. How about I cook you dinner and you can study? No funny business, I promise.”

“Only if you cook me something good.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Bring wine,” she says before hanging up the phone.

Her tub fills with hot water and oils that she’s dumped into the gushing water. She piles her hair in a messy bun on top of her head and climbs in, sighing as the hot water washes over her. She lets her head fall back against the tub and after a deep breath, reaches for her phone once more.

Kane’s messages are always so short and simple.

M. Kane: [Hope you were able to get some rest today.]

She smiles, and opens it to reply.

A. Mitchell: [Just woke up. What about you? Any plans tonight?] 

M. Kane: [May go out with a couple of friends. Why? You need company?]

She bites her lip.

She knows she should really stop doing this. It wasn’t fair to Jake… or Kane, for that matter. But she just couldn’t help herself.

A. Mitchell: [I’ll text you later. Have fun with your friends.]


	4. Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Honey by Motel Radio. Sorry for any grammar mistakes! And thanks to everyone who's read, left kudos, commented, bookmarked- anything! You guys are the best!

The shop is a short drive from his apartment. From where he parks his motorcycle, he can see the familiar face behind the counter. After cutting off the engine, he takes off his helmet and checks his phone. One text from Abby, that reads, “I’ll text you later. Have fun with your friends.”

The inside of the store is filled with apparel, accessories… and the thing he specifically came for. 

“Hey, man. Long time, no see.” His friend, who inadvertently happens to be the owner, is behind the counter as he calls out to Marcus.

“Good to see you,” Marcus replies, reaching over the counter to shake his friend’s hand. 

“What brings you in?”

“Need to trade this out for a smaller one, and maybe put a dark face shield on it.”

Todd, his friend, accepts the motorcycle helmet and looks it over. It’s in good condition, barely used. 

“A smaller one, yeah?”

“Yeah. I was thinking a Sedici. A black one. Nothing too crazy.”

“Alright. I gotta ask,” Todd says, leading Marcus to the wall of helmets. Very expensive helmets. “Who’s it for?” The question catches him off guard. In Todd’s defense, it wasn’t everyday someone traded in their secondary helmet for a smaller, more expensive brand. 

“A friend.”

“Bullshit. You don’t come in here and buy a two hundred dollar helmet for a friend.”

“Go ahead and add another Sena to it.”

Todd shakes his head, and starts to customize the helmet Marcus is asking for.

“Whoever she is, she’s one lucky girl.”

—

Abby is sitting at her kitchen island, with a full glass of wine in her hand. Jake is standing across from her, moving about her kitchen to cook them both dinner. All of her study material had been pushed off to the side, but she had brought it out as a reminder that she would have to study at some point.

“You sure you know what you’re doing over there, Iron Chef?” Her face is flushed with color from the wine, and she’s smiling. There’s a distinct lightness in the air, and she can’t help but feel… comfortable. It’s a big change from their first encounter, which she welcomes. 

“You just keep sipping that wine and looking pretty. Leave dinner up to me.”

She giggles at that, and reaches over for a piece of sliced cheese he bad brought to accompany their bottle of wine. 

She feels her phone vibrate in her lap, and looks down to see a message from Marcus.

M. Kane: [I’ve got a surprise for you.]

She can’t help but smile again, but saves her phone, and makes a promise to herself not to look at it again… until Jake leaves.

Soon enough, their dinner is ready. He plates her food while she pours the remaining wine into either of their glasses. They sit close together at her small kitchen table, her legs practically thrown over his lap. They intimately share dinner, and when it comes to an end, she refuses to move from her spot. 

“What made you want to talk to me that night? The night we met.”

He shifts in his seat, one of his hands tracing lazy patterns in her jeans, on her thigh, while the other holds his wine glass. He clears his throat.

“Well… besides the fact that you were absolutely stunning that night? Which you are… every day, by the way.” She rolls her eyes, and pushes his hand away from her thigh playfully. “I don’t know. There was something about you. I just knew I had to try.”

“That’s sweet,” she says softly.

“That’s the truth.”

Slowly, she leans closer and tilts her head until their lips meet in the sweetest of kisses. Neither one of them try to deepen the kiss anymore, simply content with their lips pressed together.

“I guess I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” he whispers against her lips. She doesn’t want him to leave, but can’t find the words to make him stay. 

“Thank you for an amazing dinner,” she whispers, their foreheads now touching.

“Anything for you,” he says, and gently moves her feet from his lap. They walk to her front door together, and she leans up on her toes to press another kiss to his cheek. “Behave yourself. Go study,” he says, nodding towards her books.

“Goodnight.” Her voice is soft, much like the way she closes the door after he leaves. She exhales… hard, as if she had been holding in her breath. Her forehead falls against the door now, as she silently curses.

—

She glances at the clock hanging up in her bedroom. It’s not that late, and she can’t bring herself to crack open a book. Her phone sits on the bed in front of her, a soft acoustic song floating from her living room sound system. 

She tells herself this will be the last time, that she’s with Jake, that it’s not fair to either one of them to keep this going. 

And after texting him to come over, all it takes is one look at him, and she’s back in the same predicament as before. He’s got her surprise in his hand as she opens the door to reveal him, and she cocks an eyebrow.

“For me,” she asks, pointing to the helmet. He nods, letting his eyes pass over her from head to toe. He moves closer to her, after setting her gift down on the nearest surface. 

His hands itch to touch her, and he suddenly realizes he had never meant for this to happen; and how extremely childish the situation was. But with one look at her, all logic flew out of the window. He was in it to win her over now; to permanently steal her away from Jake. 

He couldn’t stop himself.

He reaches out for her, and she gives in immediately. Any thoughts of Jake she once had are gone for the evening.

One hand snakes behind her neck to push her closer to him, while the other hand falls to her hip. Both of her hands grip either of his biceps through the jacket he wears.

They share a sweet kiss in the middle of her kitchen, and when they break apart, he grins.

“I taste wine.”

“A gift from Jake,” she whispers, wondering if the mention of her other lover would strike a chord in him. But it doesn’t. And she wonders why. “What are we doing,” she asks softly, still in his arms. “This doesn’t bother you?”

He doesn’t know how to tell her; that all of this had meant to be revenge, that he hadn’t meant to fall in love with her. 

“Of course it bothers me. I thought I could… distance myself from it all, but I can’t.”

“We should probably stop before someone gets hurt.” Her hands have fallen from their place on his arms, but his hands are still resting on her hips, refusing to let her back away from her.

“I don’t know if I can.” She’s licking her lips nervously, refusing to meet his eyes with her own. “I don’t know if I want to,” he adds, pulling her closer so their bodies meet again. She melts into his touch, buries her head into his chest, and inhales deeply. 

“Me either,” she says, confirming his suspicions that she feels the same way about him.

“Well… I won’t go. Unless you tell me to go.” It’s his way of letting her know that she’s in control, that he won’t force anything on her. The air between them is heavy and she can feel herself burning from the inside. 

“I want you to stay.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and he’s not sure how he’s heard her over the acoustic song playing in her living room.

It’s all the confirmation that he needs. He doesn’t care if she continues to see Jake. All he cares about is that she hasn’t given up on him yet, and that’s all he needs for now. 

His hand is back at the nape of her neck, pulling her back in for a deeper kiss. Her own hands are clutching his jacket, hanging on for dear life. She takes the opportunity to deepen their kiss as she begins to move backwards, leading him back to her bedroom. 

He marvels at how coordinated they are, at how they’ve come to know each other’s bodies well enough. He helps her pull the top over her head, as she pushes the jacket off from his muscular shoulders. They only break their kiss unless an article of clothing has to come between them.

She falls back onto the bed, dragging him with her. She lays before him in just a bra and pair of shorts. Pulling his own shirt over his head, she stops to marvel at muscular he is. His eyes shut at the feel of her hands over his abdomen. And when her fingers find the elastic waistband of his boxers, he stills.

—

She wakes first and is slow to adjust to the bright light pouring in from her window. She lifts her head from his chest, and sees she has fallen asleep practically on top of him. One of his arms is wrapped around her back, while the other is tucked somewhere under the covers.

She takes the time, while he’s still asleep, to look over his face. His beard is thick and dark, his hair is a bit shaggy and could use a cut, but she loves it. So much so, that she runs her fingers through it, gently.

It’s enough to stir him out of his slumber, and his eyes open to meet hers. 

He smiles.

This is what dreams are made of, he thinks.  


“Good morning,” he says, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Morning.”

His hand finds its way under her shirt…. his shirt, he realizes, and his fingers stroke up and down her back gently. She hums her approval and snuggles more into his side. Their legs are intertwined under the sheets.

“I’d love to waste the morning away with you, but I really have a lot to get done today.” The thought of all her school work floods her mind, and it takes everything she has not to panic. She’s got approximately three months left until graduation, and nothing will stop her.

“At least let me take you to get coffee. Then I’ll leave you to it. I promise.”

She agrees, and leaves the comfort of her bed to get herself ready. It’s the beginning of October, and there’s a slight chill in the air, which she welcomes. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, she meets him in the living room of her apartment. She grins as she accepts her helmet from him, and marvels at how beautiful it is. Then laughs to herself, at the thought of finding something like that so breathtaking.

“Ready,” he asks, and she nods, following him down to where his motorcycle is parked. When the engine comes to life, so does she. There’s an overwhelming surge of love that comes over her as he swings off the motorcycle, to stand in front of her and help her with the new helmet. All of his own equipment is on, the face shield of his own helmet lifted to see her face.

“It’ll be a little tight, but the more you wear it, the more you’ll get used to it,” he says, his words muffled from the helmet. 

And he’s right.

She has to pull on the fastening straps to pull it fully over her head, but it fits like a glove. She can feel his gloved fingers pulling the straps tighter.

The face shield he had installed distorts her color, but only slightly. 

She feels indestructible.

She gives him a ‘thumbs-up’, as if to tell him that she’s okay. 

And then she hears it. A small, lyrical sound that engulfs the helmet.

And then his voice.

“I have to say, I’m kind of jealous. Your helmet is way better than mine.”

“Rightfully so, too.” Her own voice is clear as day to him, and he grins.

She catches the glimpse of the smirk before he shuts his face shield. He settles onto the motorcycle. He revs the engine a couple of times before turning to face her, and offers a hand out to her.

She accepts it wordlessly, and uses it to help her climb back onto the motorcycle. 

She slides her arms around him, and he shifts into gear. Pulling out onto the road, he’s extra cautious with her on the back. 

“Where’s the nearest coffee shop?”

“I think it’s the one by the mall.”

He knows for certain there’s one down the road from where they are, but he plays into it. He smiles to himself, basking in the feeling of her pressed tightly against him, her arms snuggly around his waist. They come to a red light, and he slows to a stop. She refuses to let go of him, even at a stop. He takes the opportunity to bring his phone to life, and starts a familiar song. The same one from last night, she realizes.

When the stoplight changes from red to green, she tightens her hold on him and he accelerates on the stretch of empty road.


End file.
